


Insubordination

by dustofwarfare



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blowjobs, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Fire play, Humiliation, Hurt With Minimal Comfort, Inadequate Aftercare, M/M, MTs as restraints, Power Dynamics, Punishment, angry!ardyn, boot grinding kink, face fucking, in-game, knifeplay kind of, sullen!ravus, threat kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 00:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15303249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: Ardyn pats him on the face, gently, and is pleased when Ravus flinches despite himself. “I am afraid you must be disciplined for your insubordination, High Commander. And as I am the highest ranking official on this ship, I shall have to see to it myself.”Ravus swallows visibly. “If you -- if you think that is best, Your Excellency.”(Ardyn doesn't appreciate Ravus's intervention at Aracheole, and decides his impetuous High Commander needs to be disciplined.)





	Insubordination

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pixeled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixeled/gifts).



> This is for @Pixeled, for her birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FRIEND. ILU and our crazy RPs and you putting up with my slow replies and also my obsession with daemons etc. :D 
> 
> Mind the tags -- this is not a nice fic. Ardyn is angry at Ravus, and disciplines him to take it out on him. Ravus isn't in a position to say no...hence the dub-con tag. There's some aftercare, but not nearly enough for what comes before it. This isn't Safe, Sane or Consensual. It's not even Risk Aware Consensual Kink. 
> 
> Mind the warnings/tags, but do enjoy the fic if it's a thing you want to read!
> 
> Thanks of course to @marmolita for the beta!!

Ardyn keeps a vaguely polite smile affixed to his face up until the dreadnaught’s cargo bay door closes on the Prince and his entourage. Then he finds himself struggling to keep his face from twisting up into something ink-black and terrifying, the Scourge pushing and pulling at his features in a desperation to get free.

_No, no. This won’t do at all._

Ardyn takes a moment to compose himself, then turns to the two MTs and says in a voice cold enough to freeze the Glacian’s corpse all over again, “Escort High Commander Nox Fleuret to the captain’s quarters.” He turns toward one of the human Imperial soldiers. “See to it that we are not disturbed.”

Ravus gives him a haughty glare. “There is no need to have --”

“I would be quiet, were I you,” Ardyn interrupts, and if Ravus can’t tell that he is not in the mood for backtalk, Ardyn will follow it up with a dagger in his stomach. Ardyn stares at him, unblinking, looking about as inhuman and dangerous as he possibly can without letting his veins turn black.

Ravus’s jaw ticks, but mercifully he says nothing as the two MTs begin guiding him down the hallway. Ardyn follows behind them, counting his breaths and his steps, trying to think through the _rage_ he felt the second he saw Ravus draw his sword on Noctis.

As if attempting to harness the powers of the Ring of the Lucii wasn’t _enough_ , now Ravus thinks he has some right to take Ardyn’s vengeance away from him? If Ardyn had not intervened just now, what sort of mess would he be cleaning up?

What sort of doomed eternity would he be facing?

It is time to discipline his wayward High Commander. And Ardyn intends it to make a lasting impression -- for he is so close now, and he cannot have Ravus Nox Fleuret and his pettiness getting in the way of what must be.

_You think you have some reason to be bitter at the royal line of Lucis, but your bitterness is just a drop in the ocean of my spite._

When they are alone in the captain's quarters, Ravus crosses his arms over his chest but says nothing. He is not a chatty man by any stretch of the imagination, but -- recent events notwithstanding -- he is not normally a foolish one, either. He must know it is in his best interest to stay quiet.

The two MTs stand silent and blank-eyed, flanking Ravus like sentinels.

“I am curious,” Ardyn says, “why you think you had any right to murder a foreign king on Imperial property.”

Ravus says, “Noctis and his retinue are fugitives. They are wanted by the Empire. I am the Imperial High Commander, and it is my duty to see that they are brought to justice.”

Ardyn’s eyebrows raise. “Is that so? Do you know who _else_ is a fugitive wanted by the Empire, Ravus?”

Ravus’s jaw ticks. He says nothing.

Ardyn’s voice sharpens. “ _Do_ you? I asked you a question, boy. I expect an answer.”

Ravus hates being called _boy_ , which Ardyn knows well enough. Despite his position and exemplary military service, he’s not liked by his contemporaries in the army. They see him as a foreigner, inferior to those who were born and bred in Niflheim.

For a regime that so loves to expand its borders, Niflheimians can be incredibly xenophobic. Ardyn has used it to his advantage more than once.

“Yes,” Ravus says, tightly.

“Yes, _what_?” Ardyn prompts, eyes narrowing.

“Yes, I know who else is a fugitive and wanted by the Empire.” Ravus is staring somewhere over Ardyn’s shoulder.

Ardyn steps forward. He would, in better humor, admire that Ravus does not back up or even twitch so much as a muscle. Instead, he reaches out and smacks Ravus hard across the face. “I do believe I have a title you should be using when you address me, High Commander.”

Ravus almost looks surprised -- Ardyn very rarely insists on protocol, especially with him, given the intimate relationship they’ve enjoyed over the years. Ardyn enjoys watching him struggle, enjoys the sight of Ravus’s fair skin turned bright red from that smack.

“Your Excellency,” Ravus says, at length. “I apologize for the oversight.”

“I believe I made it _quite_ clear,” Ardyn says, grabbing Ravus’s hair and pulling his head back, exposing the smooth expanse of his throat, “that I had my own plans for Noctis and his retainers? That I would do my part in seeing your sister safe from Imperial chains if you would _give me the same courtesy_ ? Do you not recall that, High Commander, because I do believe I made it clear as _crystal._ ”

“Y-yes, Your Excellency. You did. I apologize for my behavior.” Ravus has a remarkable ability to apologize without actually sounding sorry.

Ardyn can see suppressed pain in Ravus’s expression from how hard Ardyn is pulling his hair. He lets himself enjoy it for a moment, though he is not, by nature, a sadist. He’s simply _angry_ , and he does not like to be. Spite and wrath, oh, he understands those. They are usable emotions, deeper, sustaining one by burrowing into blood and bone.

Anger, though, is hot and sharp and immediate; and it often results in foolish actions that one later regrets.

Ardyn’s grip on Ravus’s hair eases. “I want us to make certain we are on the same page about this, High Commander. I, as the Imperial Chancellor, have certain expectations placed upon me by the Emperor. It is true that I have no real authority over the army, but you and I...we have had an agreement for some time, now. I do my part to keep your sister living under the watchful eye of those who would see her imprisoned -- _or worse_ \-- and you assist me by keeping the army from overtaking the Lucian Prince until such time as I decide he should be brought to Gralea. That’s true, is it not?”

Ravus’s eyes flicker toward the MTs.

Annoyed, Ardyn smacks him, again -- not quite as hard this time, but enough to snap Ravus’s head back. “Do not concern yourself about them. They answer to me, which is more than I can say for _you_ , lately.”

Ravus’s face twists into a sneer before he forces it into his usual stoic expression. “I am aware of our bargain. But may I remind you, Your Excellency, I cannot _wilfully_ ignore the Emperor’s requests - especially when it comes to the safety of --”

Ardyn has a full Armiger that he can call upon as a member of the Lucis Caelum royal line. But he also has a simple, serviceable dagger that he carries on his person in a sheath beneath his coat. It’s a plain, simple thing -- not an aspect of a royal weapon from a bloodline he hates. Just something he bought long ago from a merchant in a town long since fallen to memory.

It’s that dagger he presses now against Ravus’s throat. “I will hear your apologies if they are sincerely meant, boy. And they had _better be_ , or I will slay your precious sister in front of your very eyes before I make you die choking _on her blood_ . Now, do not presume to tell me that you care a whit for the safety of an Empire and an Emperor we both know you despise. You wanted to kill Noctis because you hate him and his family. You lost your temper and, like you did when you so foolishly put that ring on your finger back in Insomnia, attempted to make yourself more important than you ever shall be...isn’t that right?” Ardyn can hear an echo in his voice, resonant like bells, and his _s’s_ are just a touch too sibilant, too much a hiss to be entirely human. “ _Isn’t it?_ Tell me the truth and don’t you _dare_ lie to me, you know how much I cannot stand that.”

“Yes, Ardyn,” Ravus chokes out, and he’s clearly afraid. “I -- yes, Your Excellency. Chancellor. I was angry. I hate him. I wanted to save my sister’s life and I was willing to do so at the expense of Noctis’s blood and your ire.”

Ardyn calms somewhat at hearing Ravus admit the truth. He takes the dagger away and sheathes it out of sight. “There. Now. It goes without saying that you won’t do that again. I have been extraordinarily generous to you, have I not?” His eyes narrow and he smacks Ravus once more across the face. There is something calming about the visceral nature of striking him. “Well? Haven’t I?”

Ravus gives a short nod, his hair in his face. “Yes, Your Excellency.”

“Yes. Good. Then the next time you are in the presence of the Lucians, you will hold your temper and your sword. You will remind yourself that my wrath is not worth whatever momentary pleasure you might receive from killing Noctis.”

Ravus’s mismatched eyes meet Ardyn’s. “Yes, Your Excellency.” He sounds perfectly respectful -- as much as he can considering his face is on fire from Ardyn’s hand -- but Ardyn is well-aware of the underlying sullenness.

“Wonderful. Now, as we are on our way to Altissia, it is of vital importance that I be able to _trust_ you, High Commander. And I’m afraid I might not be able to do that, which wounds me.” Ardyn patted his chest, where his heart would be if he still had one. “I think it best if we re-establish it as quickly as possible, don’t you?”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Ravus says, immediately, though there’s really no one other choice if he wants to continue breathing and Ardyn is certain that he knows it.

Ardyn pats him on the face, gently, and is pleased when Ravus flinches despite himself. “I am afraid you must be disciplined for your insubordination, High Commander. And as I am the highest ranking official on this ship, I shall have to see to it myself.”

Ravus swallows visibly. “If you -- if you think that is best, Your Excellency.”

“Of course I do. Now. I believe we can carry this out here, in private. We wouldn’t want anyone telling tales, would we? I know how they speak of you when you’re not around, High Commander. The names they call you, the slurs they make about your background. The doubts cast upon your allegiances. The implications you rose as far as you did simply because of how good you were on your knees for me.” Ardyn drags a chair over and collapses into it, deceptively relaxed. “And they’re not wrong about that part, are they? We both know how you’ve  reaped the benefits of my _favor_ of the years of our association.”

Ravus is looking once more at some indistinct spot across the room. It takes him a long time to answer. “No, Your Excellency. They are not wrong.”

“Mmm. What would they say if they saw how _disobedient_ you’d been? A very good thing I’m here to correct you. Now.” Ardyn leans forward in the chair, elbows on his knees. “Being on your knees for me is nothing to be ashamed of, and I suspect it would be worth the time spent to remind you of that.”

Ardyn motions to the MTs. “Bring him forward, put him on his knees, and hold him still by the arms.”

“I -- Your Excellency,” Ravus protests, as the MTs begin to move to obey his orders. “I will do as you say. There’s no need for the restraint.”

Ardyn’s sigh is filled with abject disappointment. “This is what I’m talking about, High Commander. You must stop thinking you are in control and that you know what is best. If I have to repeat myself and my desire to be _obeyed_ again, I’m afraid you will be forced to endure the opposite of my _favor_.”

Ravus, when not caught up by the promise of a magic ring or ending the life of the man he seems to think will be responsible for his sister’s demise, is a practical man. He does not fight as the MT’s grab him by the arms and move him forward, closer to Ardyn’s chair. The MTs put him on his knees, and they remain in place behind him, holding his arms behind his back.

“There,” Ardyn says, pleased. “You look delightful, my overly-proud prince. Kneeling in all your finery, your face still bearing the marks of my discipline.” Ardyn reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a small pack of matches. “You know, a very long time ago, I was lucky enough to have a...let’s call him a personal bodyguard. He was tasked with my safety, and was instructed to put his very life on the line if it were required to save mine.”

Ardyn opens the matches, pulling one out. “Rather like Prince Noctis’s Shield -- though I suppose it is _King_ Noctis, now, isn’t it? The Amicitia line has served in that role since before even the first Lucian King was crowned, did you know that?”

Ravus shakes his head. “No, Your Excellency. I did not.”

“The name, _Amicitia --_ said incorrectly, since no one speaks the language as it was meant to be spoken, anymore -- means _friendship._ Because back in the day when the tradition first began, it wasn’t blood oaths that bound a warrior to his king. It was a simple desire to keep him safe with the gifts of strength the gods had bestowed upon him. Such a silly notion to us modern folks, isn’t it? No one does anything anymore, simply out of affection.”

Ardyn lights the match, watching as the bright flame springs forth and starts devouring the wood. “Have you some affection for me, Ravus?”

He could laugh at the look on Ravus’s face -- clearly, Ravus intends to do as instructed to win back Ardyn’s trust, simply because he knows he needs Ardyn’s influence to keep his sister safe. Ravus also has enjoyed their physical interactions, but Ardyn thinks that, if he were to answer the question honestly, it would be with a _no._

“I am not a man given easily to such tender feelings, Your Excellency,” Ravus says at length, eyes downcast in an attempt at avoidance disguised as respectfulness. “My affections, such as they are, are saved for Lunafreya.”

“Such a devoted brother you are.” Ardyn exhales, and the flame flickers for a moment before dying. He breathes in the smell of sulfur before tossing the match to the ground and pulling out another one. “I find that admirable. I’m sure you don’t believe me, but I do. Your fair sister is lucky to have a sibling so dedicated to her safety.” Ardyn lights the match, watching it burn. “You would do anything for her, without question.”

“Yes,” Ravus says, and then adds, “Your Excellency.”

“Betray me, even.” He glances at Ravus. “Wouldn’t you? Remember how much I abhor lying, and venerate devotion.”

“If -- if such a thing were necessary to save her life, then yes,” Ravus says. “She is my _sister_.”

“I didn’t ask for excuses. Simply the truth. And I already knew the answer. You were wise to tell me the truth.” Ardyn waits until the flame touches the tips of his fingers, then snuffs the match and tosses it to the floor. “But you recall your oaths to me, yes? I should like a reminder that you intend to keep them.”

Ardyn lights the match. “Open up.”

Ravus blinks. “I -- I beg your pardon, Your Excellency?”

“I said,” Ardyn says, raising the match. “Open up. Your mouth.”

Ravus does so, his eyes fixed on the match in Ardyn’s fingers.

“Good boy.” Ardyn leans forward. “Hold him still if he tries to move,” he orders the MTs.

“Ardyn --” Ravus says, and there is real fear in his voice. Of course there is. Ardyn knows very well what Ravus thinks about fire, and the associations he has with it.

“Ah, now, that is not proper,” Ardyn corrects, his voice very gentle with warning. “You are allowed to informally address me by my given name when I am pleased with you. And that is what you are trying to do, hmm? Earn back my _affection._ My _friendship._ Since it was so sorely tested by your impulsiveness today. Now. Swallow.”

Ravus makes a very interesting sound as Ardyn shoves the lit match in his mouth.

“I would recommend swallowing quickly, so it burns less,” he advises, watching as Ravus struggles to comply. Ravus coughs, hard enough that he leans forward and turns red from the effort. “Do not throw that back up, or you’ll do this for twice as many,” Ardyn instructs.

Ravus straightens as best he can. It must be so frustrating, Ardyn thinks, for him to submit to the MTs when they both know Ravus’s Magitek arm could easily break their hold.

Ardyn smiles and pulls out another match. “Think of these matches as my anger, and you, by swallowing them, are taking it into yourself. Diffusing it. Symbolic, hmm? That’s what’s known as _sympathetic magic_ , Ravus. It’s a very old concept, and remarkably effective.” He strikes the match, holds it out, and waits.

Ravus is staring at him, recoiling slightly from the smoke. “Your Excellency. Please do not make me do this.”

“Oh, come now. I know it’s painful, but surely it’s nothing compared to how it felt when the Ring of the Lucii burned off your arm.” Ardyn waits. “If this fire touches my fingers I shall be _most_ displeased.”

Ravus’s eyes gleam -- the right one with what is likely a tear, the left from the Scourge that powers his prosthetic. But he opens his mouth, and Ardyn presses the lit match inside. “Swallow.”

Ravus makes a choked noise and does so, breathing harshly, exhaling loudly out of his nose. His entire body is trembling.

“I am not doing this to hurt you,” Ardyn says, tipping Ravus’s chin up with two fingers. “Causing pain for no reason does nothing to titillate or arouse me. I want to trust you again, High Commander. Take this for me, and we shall put this little incident behind us. I am not asking you to betray your sister, but if you would prefer to earn back my loyalty by killing her.…”

Ravus shakes his head. “No. I don’t wish that, Your Excellency.”

Ardyn can see Ravus steeling himself for the ordeal to come; he shifts so that he’s kneeling straighter, so that his chin is up, and he blinks his eyes rapidly to dispel the tears.

Ardyn lights another match. “Lean toward me. Show me you want my forgiveness.”

Ravus can’t quite hide the look of utter loathing on his face, though Ardyn does not know if it is for him, specifically, or directed entirely inward. Ravus opens his mouth and leans in, just a little, unable to stifle the pained whimper he makes when Ardyn pushes the lit match onto his tongue.

He doesn’t have to tell Ravus to swallow this time. Ravus does it immediately.

“Think of this as diffusing my anger _and_ taking the element’s properties into yourself.” Ardyn lights another match. “Fire eating is an old practice, too. A learned skill. Aren’t you glad I’m teaching you something so useful?” He holds out the lit match like it’s a treat, and his smile is quiet and cruel. “Come and get it, boy.”

Ravus doesn’t bother hiding his snarl as he leans in, weight supported by the MTs, and Ardyn feeds him another match.

This time, he reaches down and strokes his fingers over Ravus’s throat, feeling his Adam’s apple bob as he forces himself to swallow. “Do you know, I think it’s working. I feel much less angry with you. Not entirely, but we’re certainly making progress. Isn’t that nice to hear?”

Ravus nods, his eyes glassy with unshed tears and suppressed pain.

Ardyn smiles and taps him on the mouth with his fingers. “I asked you a question, High Commander.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Ravus bites out.

Ardyn runs his fingers down Ravus’s throat again. “Yes, what?”

“Y-yes it is good to hear, Your Excellency.” Ravus has a quiet voice in general, but it’s so soft now it’s difficult to hear.

“Are you sure? If it’s the truth, why whisper?” Ardyn’s hand tightens around Ravus’s throat. “Do say it a bit louder.”

“Yes,” Ravus grits out, louder. His voice is scratchy and rough. “It is good to hear, Your Excellency.”

Ardyn gives a sharp nod and sits back in his chair. He lazily lights another match, watching Ravus as he struggles to breathe deep through his nose. “I’m far more forgiving than the Lucii, you know.”

Ravus coughs as his throat works, clearly trying to get enough saliva to swallow. It takes him a long time, but Ardyn is a patient man.

Three matches later, Ardyn can tell Ravus is starting to lose his composure. He’s blinking very rapidly, his chest heaving, and there’s sweat dampening the platinum strands of his hair. Four matches later, and he turns his face away when Ardyn brings the next to his mouth.

“I will have that MT hold your jaw open, Ravus. Incidentally, I have a great many more of these matchbooks.” He flips it over and looks at it. This one is from the Leville in Lestallum, but he’s fairly sure he has one from the cheap motel near Longwythe Peak in his pocket.

Ravus says something under his breath that sounds a lot like _please_. Ardyn strokes two fingers down his face. “You can cry if you like. I certainly won’t judge you for it. I know this must be unpleasant, and I’m sure it hurts a great deal.” He has to tip Ravus’s face up to his, and wait patiently for those mismatched eyes to focus.

“Like you -- ever cry,” Ravus says, as if that means anything.

“Oh, Ravus. There was a time I cried myself dry. So many tears, you could have filled a river with them.” His smile fades as he thinks about that, his execution, crowds that once cheered his name jeering in anticipation of his public death. “But you likely don’t want me to think about why. It only reminds me of my anger, and that’s the last thing we want, isn’t it?”

“What -- did he -- do to _you_ ?” Ravus bites out. “He’ll see -- my sister -- burned to ash like our mother, dead on the altar of his so-called _divinity_ \--”

Ardyn backhands him across the mouth, breathing hard. “You have no idea what it is like to suffer at the hands of a Lucis Caelum.”

_But you will before this is finished. Let the name of my noble House be to everyone else the curse it has always been to me._

Ardyn breathes out, temper flaring again. “Now, see what you’ve made me do? If you’re still able to speak so to me, this must not be working.”

Ravus closes his eyes. He’s trembling, and Ardyn can tell this is likely his last ditch effort at retaining some measure of pride. The MTs are supporting most of his weight, now. Ardyn lights a match and brutally shoves it in Ravus’s mouth, then another.

Ardyn wasn’t speaking poetically. There really _is_ some magic in watching Ravus swallow fire, Ardyn’s own rage gradually fading to a simmer.  

“Fire was once a gift of the gods,” Ardyn says, once he’s gotten himself under control again.  “And now it’s become something so trivial, it can be found for free all across Eos. No wonder the Pyreburner cursed the world. One should never take such gifts for granted.”

Ravus’s head is bowed, now, and there are tears dripping down to the floor -- a mix of regular, human tears and those tainted Scourge-black -- and his breathing is audible and ragged. When Ardyn strikes another match, he can hear Ravus make a sound perilously close to a whine.

Ardyn smiles, pleased. “All that insubordination seems to be fading. I’m glad of it. Open up, now.”

“I - I can’t,” Ravus gasps. Ardyn has to imagine that it’s swallowing the matchsticks more than the momentary fire in his mouth that hurts, but he’s not entirely sure. He’s curious, though. Perhaps he’ll try this himself, later. Just to see.

“You can,” Ardyn says gently. “And you will.” He turns his attention to the MTs. “One of you, hold him. The other, come and hold his head up for me.”

“Ardyn,” Ravus chokes out. “ _Please_.”

It’s probably not even the pain, Ardyn thinks dispassionately, watching the MTs move to follow his instructions. It has to be the memories associated with smoke and flame, and Ardyn can understand that. He’s not terribly fond of fire, either, considering his own execution. He was beheaded, but they burned his body after it was done. Or tried to.

“Shh, come, now. It’s all right.” Ardyn waits until the MT is out of the way and holds the match out. “Don’t make me doubt the sincerity of your wish to atone.”

Ravus is stifling sobs by the time Ardyn finally pulls the last match out of the book. His shoulders are shaking, his hair a mess, face flushed with tears.

“One left.” Ardyn holds the match up, unlit. “Ask me for it.”

Ravus is struggling to speak, but finally he manages something that sounds like _please, give it to me,_ which is good enough. Ardyn reclines back in his chair, then says to the MTs, “Let him go.”

They do; Ravus has to catch himself on his hands as he falls forward.

“Come and get it,” Ardyn instructs. “Crawl. Show me that I am not wrong to trust you.”

Ravus, admittedly, looks very attractive -- shaking and so close to broken, but still trying to glare, and his jerky motions as he crawls with that Magitek arm that Ardyn gave him….ah, but it makes Ardyn’s cock hard, and that gives him an idea of what to do next.

He might be out of matches, but his anger...not quite. There are other lessons left to teach.  

Ravus doesn’t want to touch him, but he’s clearly have a hard time keeping himself upright as he goes to his knees. He sways, but Ardyn grabs his chin and that seems to help. He doesn’t stop Ravus from opening his mouth, and he holds him there for one long, perfect moment before he lights the last match.

“Don’t,” he says, before he places it on Ravus’s tongue like some sick communion, “make me angry again.”

Ravus swallows the match. Ardyn lets go of his chin, and Ravus slumps back to sit on his heels, hands on his knees, head bowed.

“Very good.” Ardyn makes a sharp motion and the MTs clank forward. “Hold his arms again.”

Ravus’s head snaps up, a look of betrayal followed quickly by disbelief.

Ardyn reaches down and unbuckles his belt. “Now that I’m no longer angry, I think it best if you put me in a better mood.”

Ravus doesn’t say anything, just keeps glaring at him as Ardyn frees his cock and gives it a few strokes. He reaches out and wets his fingers with the tears on Ravus’s face, then strokes his damp fingers over his cock. A bit theatrical of him to be sure.

“And now, I’m going to take your impertinent mouth and fuck your throat. I imagine it will hurt. But just think of the pleasure you’re giving me, Ravus. That should help you endure it.” Likely it won’t. Likely it will be agony.

Not as agonizing as, say, vengeance left unsatisfied or an eternity of a cursed existence, but it’ll have to do. Ardyn strokes himself to full hardness, then rises and stands in front of Ravus.

The sound Ravus makes when Ardyn thrusts in is very satisfying. A muffled cry of pain, and while Ardyn generally prefers to make Ravus _moan_ \-- given how much Ravus also hates feeling good, the man is truly vexing in literally every sense of the word -- this is exactly what Ardyn wants. Ravus to remember that Ardyn is in control and that Ardyn makes the decisions, and Ravus is not permitted to do things simply because he wants to do them. Ardyn settles a hand on the back of Ravus’s head and moves his hips, thrusting in and out, going deep. It feels good, of course, physically -- the matches have scratched Ravus’s throat and made it tight and swollen, though his mouth is also very dry, which is less than ideal.

But the point of this is dominance, isn’t it? He alternates choking Ravus with shallow thrusts that scrape against the burned top of his mouth. Ravus takes it, though it’s a messy blowjob and occasionally Ardyn can feel Ravus’s tears on his cock as he fucks his mouth.

Ardyn grabs his hair and yanks his head back. “Look at me,” he says, sharply. “I need to know you are present for this lesson, High Commander.” Just because he can, he smacks Ravus on the face. Not hard, this time - and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he hears a sound that isn’t entirely one of pain.

Though it’s hard to tell. Ravus, even when he’s feeling pleasure, sounds like he’s being tortured. Actually, more so than when he _is_ being tortured.

Which, of course, gives Ardyn the perfect idea of how to end this, when the time comes.

Just the thought of it is enough to make Ardyn come. Which he does by pulling out and finishing on Ravus’s face, because he knows that coming in Ravus’s mouth will give his raw throat some relief.

Ardyn tucks himself back to his pants and collapses back into his chair. “Well. I feel much better.” He smiles over at Ravus, who is wiping at his face with the hem of his sleeve. “Now. One more thing, I think, before I’ve forgiven you.”

Ravus glances at him, then away. Ardyn isn’t sure if the fight has gone out of him, or if he’s just decided to keep his head down until this is over. Ardyn slides his leg forward. “I know how much you hate giving in to me. But I’m afraid it’s a necessity.”

Ravus is staring at Ardyn’s extended leg in clear confusion.

“Come here,” Ardyn says, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I’m willing to give you a chance, but not to wait until we’re in Altissia for you take it.”

Ravus moves forward, crawling even though Ardyn didn’t ask him to. Either he’s doing it because Ardyn’s broken him down to where his mental exhaustion allows for no other option, or he’s doing it because he thinks it’s what Ardyn wants.

Ardyn doesn’t much care. He enjoys the sight regardless of why Ravus is doing it, but his eyebrows raise in surprise when Ravus, having reached him, leans down and presses his mouth to the tip of Ardyn’s boot.

He looks so thoroughly disgusted that Ardyn almost laughs. “Charming, my dear, but that wasn’t my intention. Unless you’ve a fetish for the taste of dirty leather of which I was unaware?”

Ravus gives a slight shake of his head. His face is obscured by the fall of his hair. “This isn’t -- you said you wanted --”

“Pleasure,” Ardyn interrupts. “I want you to find pleasure. If you shall find that licking my boot, then by all means. Continue.”

“Pleasure,” Ravus says, his voice still hoarse from the matches. He’s staring down at the ground. “You wish me to find something _pleasurable_ about this.”

“Yes,” Ardyn says gently. He flexes his leg. “Straddle my leg, and rub yourself off on my boot.”

Ravus’s head snaps up. His eyes narrow. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you telling me no?” Ardyn cocks his head, considering. “Hmm. Here I thought I’d rather made my point. Shall I require a blowtorch? I believe the MTs have the capability.”

Ravus stares up at him with a look of perfect, tragic detachment. “Just kill me if you mean to, and get on with it.”

Ardyn laughs, then reaches out and strokes his fingers down Ravus’s face. “I’m so very close to being _happy_ with you. Let’s not ruin it. Now, do as I’ve told you, or I’m afraid we’ll have to start this discipline all over again. I do have another book of matches.”

Ravus inhales, which clearly causes him pain, and Ardyn can see him weighing the pros and cons of refusing his order. He wonders if the thought of swallowing more matches is enough to make Ravus do it, or if he will have to resort to more threats against the fair Oracle.

In the end, either it’s the matches or the thought of what Ardyn will do to Lunafreya that makes Ravus comply; or perhaps he just wants this to be over. Either way, he clumsily straddles Ardyn’s leg, and pushes his hips half-heartedly against Ardyn’s boot.

“I am not,’ Ravus bites out, “Entirely sure this is possible. Physically.”

Ardyn lifts his leg, puts pressure where he knows Ravus will need it and grinds it slowly. “If you ask me, I might help you.”

He doesn’t, not at first. He grinds awkwardly on Ardyn’s boot, supporting himself with his Magitek prosthetic on the ground, clearly trying to work himself up to hardness with his human hand. Ardyn lets him struggle on for a few moments, the last of his anger ebbing away as he watches Ravus almost sob in desperation to get hard, to give Ardyn what he wants.

“You do look lovely following orders, High Commander,” Ardyn says, voice pitched low. He angles his foot slightly. “Aren’t you just so happy that I’ve decided to forgive you? Come now. I know you can get hard for me. You’ve done it so many times before.”

Ravus goes back to glaring at him, but he rubs harder against Ardyn’s boot.  “Yes, Your Excellency.”

Ardyn watches Ravus pant and writhe, mostly out of determination and discomfort than any actual pleasure.

Ardyn lifts his leg, pressing his boot into the beginnings of an erection that Ravus has worked so hard to get. “Think of knowing that your dear sister shall be safe.” _Until she confronts the Hydrean and I slay her to bring the darkness, that is._

“I don’t wish to speak of Lunafreya at the moment,” Ravus pants, his voice dark and husky from the matches. It makes his usual clipped tones sound like smoke. It’s attractive.

“Then let us speak of how pleased I am with you for taking your punishment like the good soldier you are,” Ardyn says, moving until he has a good angle for rubbing his boot against Ravus’s cock. “Earning back the Imperial Chancellor’s favor. You shan’t do anything so brash again, shall you?”

“No, Your Excellency,” Ravus says, moving a little harder, faster. His eyes slide closed. Ardyn wonders what he’s thinking about, what he’s imagining, to get through this.

That simply won’t do. “Keep your eyes open. Watch me. I want to see you when you come on my boot, Ravus.”

Ravus drags his eyes open, and he’s clearly not happy about it. Ardyn purrs, “That’s it, rub yourself on me. I can feel that you’re hard. How lovely that you respond even after I’ve had to hurt you. You know I’d rather torment you with pleasure than lit matches, yes?”

“I don’t know what you’d rather do,” Ravus says, in a startling moment of honesty. “I don’t even know why you are so insistent Noctis remains alive, when by all rights you shouldn’t have any reason to go against the Emperor’s wishes.”

Ardyn leans forward and grabs Ravus’s hair. He tugs, and says in a deceptively mild voice, “And you don’t need to. Now, don’t mention things that make me angry, darling. Or we’ll have to extend this little discipline session longer, and neither of us want that.”

Ravus doesn’t say anything but he seems to understand. His mismatched eyes go wide and glassy as he gets closer, his breathing ragged, and he moves against Ardyn’s leg with intent -- but it’s clear he’s not getting there on his own.

Ardyn finds Ravus’s tangible frustration _delicious._ “Oh, you’re so close but you just can’t quite get there, can you? And yet, this won’t stop until you do. What do you need to finish?”

Ravus, who is humping Ardyn’s leg now fast and hard, making soft little sounds of aggravation. “I - I don’t know,” he says, glancing up at him through his hair. “Something, I -- talk to me. Say the -- the filthy things you always say. That I _hate_.”

“But that’s for when you’ve appeased my ire and earned my favor, dear boy. Think of how very badly you want to stay in my good graces. That _should_ be enough, hmm?”  Ardyn pulls his dagger out, then starts playing with it. “Would you like to hear what I will do to you, if you fail to find your pleasure?”

Ravus’s breath catches and his eyes flash with something that isn’t pain. Ardyn almost laughs. He holds the knife up, watches the light catch on the blade and smiles. “I could flay you alive, if I wished. Strip your skin slowly while you hung from the ceiling in chains.”

Ravus’s hips push down harder. Ardyn flexes his foot, points it, gives him some additional stimulation while he plays with the knife. His threats are ridiculous and become more so as he teases at his own fingers with the tip of the blade, but it’s working -- Ravus is clearly right there, on the edge, his body trembling now from something other than pain.

Ardyn, in a moment of rather brilliant showmanship, holds the knife up and _licks_ it, slowly.

Ravus comes with a soft, muttered curse and a choked noise, grinding his hips down hard onto the hard leather of Ardyn’s boot. Ardyn murmurs encouragingly as Ravus shudders through it. He doubts it feels all that good; it’s probably more of a relief than genuine pleasure. But it’s over, and Ravus slumps down to the floor when he’s finished, head bowed as he gasps for breath.

Ardyn dismisses the two MTs with a wave, and they shuffle toward the door with their boots clanking in unison against the grating. Ravus doesn’t seem to notice; he’s still curled in on himself in a heap of white hair, white leather and dark recriminations.

Ardyn stands up and sheds his coat, pulls his leather gloves off and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. He goes to the small, serviceable en suite bathroom and finds a towel, wets it and then carries it back into the room. He sighs. Ravus hasn’t moved so much as a muscle.

“Up we go, now, darling.” He places the cool cloth on the table next to the small bunk, and goes to help Ravus to his feet.

Ravus sways; he blinks at Ardyn, then bows his head. He doesn’t try and stop Ardyn from stripping his coat from him, and is docile when Ardyn helps him to sit on the bed. He stares down at the floor while Ardyn briskly divests him of boots and pants and underwear, making no word or sign of protest when Ardyn urges him to lay back on the mattress.

Ardyn folds Ravus’s clothes, drapes his long coat over the chair and stacks his boots neatly next to it. There’s nothing to be done about the pants and his underwear, but they’ll be covered by the coat until they get to the Leville and fresh clothing.

A glance over his shoulder shows Ravus staring up at the ceiling with his usual tragic expression, so Ardyn discreetly summons a potion from his armiger and carries it over to him. He holds it out and says, “Sip it slowly.”

Ravus just stares at him and makes no move to take it.

“Your throat must hurt,” Ardyn says, patient.

“Yes,” says Ravus, voice as dull as his eyes. “Wasn’t that the point?”

He’s so tiresome, honestly. Ardyn sighs. “Yes, and I told you, we’re finished. You earned back my favor, don’t lose it again by being foolish and refusing to take aid when it is offered.”

Ravus blinks and then he scowls, which is as familiar on his face as a smile or gaze of affection would be on someone else’s. “What sort of punishment is followed immediately by erasure of the after effects?”

“Ravus, do as I say,” Ardyn says, exasperated. “I told you. The point was for you to obey, to take your punishment, and you did. Thus, my objectives in inflicting it have been achieved. Do I need to leave you with a physical reminder? I had thought you were smart enough not to require one, but let me know if I was wrong.”

Ravus looks away from him. Ardyn finally understands. He will have to make Ravus accept healing like he forces him to accept pleasure.

He leans in and takes Ravus’s chin in his fingers. Ravus startles; likely because Ardyn isn’t wearing his gloves; his fingers are calloused, his skin cold. “I am not leaving you with a ravaged throat so you can endure it like a hair shirt. I have need of a high commander, not a martyr.”

When all he gets is another obstinate glare, Ardyn flicks him on the forehead. “Punish yourself on your own time, High Commander Nox Fleuret. You are on mine now, and I believe I just gave you an order.”

Ravus opens his mouth, and Ardyn pours in the potion like he placed the matches. He tips a few drops of the potion at a time, and with his free hand, strokes Ravus’s throat as he swallows. He can see the potion is working; Ravus’s tense body relaxes slowly under the effects of it.

When it’s empty, Ardyn sets the potion bottle aside and takes up the cloth. He cleans Ravus’s face, his chest, and lower, between his legs. Ravus’s cock stirs a bit at the touch, which is both a delight and completely unsurprising.

He’s just put the cloth next to the potion and his fingers are at the fastening of his vest when Ravus turns his head, looks up at him and says in a drowsy voice, “You are as talented at healing as you are at inflicting punishment. How strange you would enjoy the former more than the later. I would not have expected that of you.”

Ardyn’s fingers still on the fastening.

He stares down at Ravus, and when he speaks, his voice is cold as death. “Yes,” he says, taking a step back. “How strange indeed.” He reaches for his coat, shrugging into it like battle armor. The words were casually spoken, and should mean nothing.

But they do. They get under Ardyn’s skin and hurt him like they shouldn’t be able to; even now, he remembers what it felt like to be something other than _this_. The gods have never been kind to him. They have never let him forget what he once was.

“Rest well, Ravus,” Ardyn says, turning away from him. “We shall soon be at Altissia, and there is much to be done when we’re there.”

Time enough later to indulge, before letting go forever of the man he used to be and taking up the mantle of the monster, once and for all.

  



End file.
